


if it wasn't for the traffic

by reynabeth



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Multichapter, Other, Platonic Relationships, The Great British Bake Off, They're all British, gbbo au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynabeth/pseuds/reynabeth
Summary: Fourteen bakers enter the tent. Only one will emerge victorious.





	

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: this was originally going 2 be multichapter but i have SO much stuff going on im going to have it standalone for now,,, but i ! might update in the future we'll see  
> A GBBO PJO AU !!!!  
> dedicated to polly aka @lukeccastellan on ig for the initial idea ,,,, we'll see how much i update this lol  
> challenges: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/food-and-drink/recipes/great-british-bake-off-all-the-recipes-from-series-6/  
> recipes: http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/2528636/coffee-and-walnut-cake  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/madeiracake_73878  
> http://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/news-and-recipes/recipes/

Annabeth Chase has been baking since the age of five. She can make icing in mere minutes, whip up the lightest, fluffiest sponges, and tell when the food is ready to be taken out of the oven by the sounds the machine makes.

The Great British Bake Off ought to be a doddle.

During the drive down to Berkshire, Annabeth's fingers spend the whole time tapping at the steering wheel. Not that she's nervous, or anything. She's been baking since age five, remember?

The traffic is hell, and Annabeth is steely with frustration by the time she arrives. She places one foot outside the car, and is immediately descended upon by a hassled woman in a sharp suit.

“Oh, hello,” Annabeth says. “It's Annabeth.”

“Yes, I know,” the woman smiles. “I’m Athena, production manager of the show, and it has also fallen to me to greet you and the others.”

“Well, I don't want to inconvenience you,” Annabeth says snidely, immediately disliking her.

“No trouble, no trouble,” Athena says. “You're last to arrive. Come on through - the team want to give you a briefing before we begin filming.”

“A briefing. Very professional.” Annabeth trots after Athena through the park, the long grass brushing against her ankles through her jeans. She hadn't been sure what to wear - now, seeing Athena's suit, she's worried she looks too informal.

They arrive at the tent - which is slightly smaller than Annabeth expected - and Athena ushers her through the entrance. The other contestants are gathered at the back, an awkward group of handshakes and Costa coffee. 

Annabeth has met them before a couple of times, but not properly, and she can't remember their names. The first one to greet her is a short, young-looking black woman with a floral-print summer dress and gold sandals. She holds out her hand. “I'm Hazel Levesque.” Hazel has an oh-so-soft Scottish accent that makes her words sound light and breezy, like a feather drifting down from the sky.

“Annabeth Chase,” Annabeth says, shaking Hazel's hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Where have you come from, then?” 

“Wiltshire,” Annabeth says, scratching the back of her neck. “Bath.”

“Oh, Bath is lovely,” someone else says. “Such a gorgeous historical city.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Annabeth agrees.

The next few minutes pass in a whirlwind blur of names and faces. Annabeth remembers Piper McLean and her Cornish accent and pretty eyes; she remembers Percy Jackson - Manchester - and his firm handshake; and she remembers Reyna, a Londoner, with the undertones of a Spanish accent. 

Then the tent door opens again and about a million people traipse in, carrying heavy equipment and enough cables to go round the world twice, all with skinny jeans and caramel frappés in hand.

A tall man who’s made at least a foot taller by his almost vertical hair steps forward, expertly running a length of wire through one hand. “Okay, guys, it's so great to see you all here today,” the guy says, his voice nasal and annoying. “My name is Hermes, and I'm just gonna give you guys a few little instructions on how to behave.”

He holds up one finger. “One: no swearing - this is a family friendly show. Two: ramp up the drama if you can - it makes for better viewing. Three: even if you hate each other, at least pretend to get on - everyone must be friendly to each other on Bake Off.” He reels off several more instructions, checking each one off on his fingers as he does so.

Annabeth tries to focus, but she's never been good at concentrating, and today is no exception. Her mind blurs and smudges his words, and she ends up staring out the clear plastic-y window. She remembers she has a Tesco delivery coming tonight, and she hopes she doesn't miss it due to more traffic. 

“And that will be all,” Hermes says, stepping back, and Annabeth jumps awake, startled. She's not sure what she's missed - hopefully nothing important. 

An intern hands them all a beige apron, and rushes to show them where the kitchen, toilet, and sinks are. Annabeth slips the strap of the apron over her head, pulling her blonde ponytail through, and ties it in a double bow behind her back. 

“You ready to see the judges?” Grover Underwood from Brighton, a short guy with dreadlocks and dark skin riddled with acne, moves over to where Annabeth is standing.

“As long as they don't eat me alive,” Annabeth jokes, and they both laugh nervously.

At that moment, the tent door opens, and the judges enter: Dionysus - a middle aged man with close-cropped black hair, and Chiron, a soft-spoken younger man, with the presenters Connor and Travis Stoll in tow. 

There's a flurry of handshakes and hellos. Up close, Dionysus has shedloads of makeup caked on, and there are streaks of grey in Chiron's beard.

Someone suggests making tea whilst the camera crew set up, and Frank Zhang - a twenty-four-year-old Liverpudlian - takes it upon himself to brew tea for everyone in the tent except Annabeth, who makes herself coffee. 

She ends up talking to Piper whilst she sips her too-hot coffee. “So, what do you do for a living?” Annabeth asks.

“Charity work,” Piper says, shrugging. Her eye colour changes as she moves, which is quite remarkable. “What about you?”

“Oh, I'm an architect,” Annabeth says. “Not a very good one, though. I spend too much time baking.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Piper says, rolling her eyes. “I barely passed university, I baked so much.”

They both laugh, and Annabeth can't help but think maybe she could make some friends here. 

At that moment, Hermes shouts for the crew to take up positions. Tall, attractive hipsters with cameras and cables scramble to their various places, and the contestants move to their respective benches. Annabeth is positioned in the middle, behind Percy and in front of Reyna.

Week One is Cake Week, and the first challenge is coffee and walnut cake. Annabeth loves coffee, and she likes walnuts, and she's been practising this challenge at home so much, she could do it in her sleep. Sometimes she actually does wake up making a stirring motion with her hands.

Annabeth's recipe puts a little spin on the traditional cake, but it doesn't deviate too much from the original recipe. It's gone down well with her friends and family, so she's pretty confident.

Her confidence lasts about as long as it takes her to wash her hands, get out her ingredients, and set up her work space. 

Okay, Annabeth. Breathe. 

She tips the flour into a mixing bowl, and adds baking powder and a sugar. So far, so good. Just as she starts to stir together the dry ingredients, she looks up and sees Dionysus and Chiron making a beeline for her bench.

“Good morning, Annabeth,” says Chiron.

“Morning,” Annabeth replies, sounding as cheery as she could. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you,” Dionysus says, peering into the bowl just as Annabeth is sprinkling in a little bit of cinnamon. “Can you tell us what you're making this morning?”

“Yes - I'm making one of my favourite variants of this cake: cinnamon coffee and walnut.”

“Ooh, Christmassy,” says Travis Stoll, appearing at Annabeth's elbow.

“That sounds lovely,” says Chiron.

“How are you putting the cinnamon in?” Dionysus asks.

“I'm mixing it into the main cake, and adding some to the mascarpone icing too.”

“Okay,” Dionysus says, raising his eyebrows. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Annabeth bites her lip, and then turns back to her cake. She scrapes the butter into the bowl, and cracks the eggs with minimal mess, finally tipping in the vanilla and coffee. 

Behind her, she hears a muffled swearword, causing Hermes’ head to whip round, his hair following a moment later. Annabeth looks round too - Reyna's spilt walnuts all over her workspace. 

“Do you need some help with that?” Annabeth asks, turning around.

“Oh, thank you,” Reyna says gratefully, and together they scoop the walnuts back into the packet. “Cinnamon coffee and walnut, huh?”

“I wish I'd thought of adding different nuts and seeds, like you,” Annabeth answers politely. Honestly, she doesn't think it's a good idea - the cake won't cook properly, she expects, and it will be too chunky.

Still, each to their own.

Annabeth turns back to her cake mix, fiddling around with the tin. When it's finally in the oven, she slumps down on the floor, breathing in the smells of new carpet and cinnamon and coffee. 

“Bakers, you have forty-five minutes left!” Connor Stoll calls, and Annabeth jumps up - there's no time to waste. 

“Forty five minutes?” she hears someone mutter - Percy Jackson, the green-eyed man in front of her. “Dear God.” 

“Tell me about it,” Annabeth agrees, nearly pouring the entire tin of cinnamon into her mascarpone. “Oh, holy cr - abs. Holy crabs.” Damn family viewing.

The oven timer beeps aggressively, scaring the wits out of Annabeth. The camera happens to be trained over her at the time, so she says, “I think my ghost just ascended from my body,” with a friendly smile, and pulls the oven open so fast she nearly breaks the oven door off its hinges.

“Ten minutes left!”

Fuck off, Annabeth thinks, fanning her cake with a bendy plastic chopping board, trying to cool it down. Around her, most people seem to be doing the same: she can see Percy, in front of her, dancing around his bench blowing on the cake.

“Five minutes remaining!”

Annabeth, deeming the cake cool, slathers the icing on the top and sides, using a spatula to even it out. A handful of chopped walnuts and a pinch more cinnamon sprinkled on top, and she's able to lever the cake onto the tray she'll present it on.

Don't drop it. Don't drop it. Don't drop it.

She manages not to drop it, and has just enough time to tidy up the edges before Connor and Travis call that it's time up.

She tidies her bench, and then the judges begin to make their rounds. First to be judged is Nico di Angelo, a young, dark-haired man from Birmingham. Annabeth completely zones out, too focussed on her own cake.

Nico gets an okay result - well, Annabeth assumes so, since he's smiling. The contestants between him and her speed by way too fast, until the judges arrive at Percy's workspace.

Annabeth wipes her sweaty palms on her floury apron. “This is nice,” Dionysus says, prodding the side of Percy's cake. “It smells good. Let's see how it tastes.”

Chiron cuts a slice. “It's nicely baked,” he says, “a good colour all the way through.” They both take a bite. “For me, the coffee is quite strong.”

“I'm not really getting the lemon,” Dionysus agrees, “but an interesting combination. All in all, a good bake. Just the flavours that let you down.”

Chiron nods, and Percy thanks them, and then the judges are moving to Annabeth's bench. Her heart pounds, and she can feel it all over her body. 

“Morning, Annabeth,” Chiron says.

“Morning.” Annabeth ducks her head, which is starting to hurt a little.

“So, a cinnamon coffee and walnut cake,” Dionysus says. “This icing looks quite good - it's smooth, and seems about even. You've distributed these nuts on the top quite nicely.”

Chiron cuts a slice for them both, and they take a bite. Dionysus chews for a moment before speaking. “The cinnamon is...very strong.”

“Okay,” Annabeth whispers, nodding.

“Nice coffee flavour, though,” Chiron adds. “It could have done with a little longer in the oven.”

“Yeah - it's a tiny bit under-baked in the middle. You were close, though - I'd have given it maybe two more minutes, five at most.”

“Okay,” Annabeth repeats. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Chiron says. “That was very nice.” And, just like that, they move on.

Two minutes. Two minutes. Two minutes! She was two minutes and a teaspoon of cinnamon off a really nice bake! 

The judges are trying Reyna's cake, but Annabeth can't hear them over the buzzing in her ears. Honestly. Two minutes.

After the judging is over, they head outside one-by-one to talk to the camera. Annabeth is first, and she leans against a fence, taking in the sunlight. “Yeah, not bad for the first challenge,” she says, feeling awkwardness prickle up her neck. The indie kid behind the camera gestures for her to continue. “Uh, I'm looking forward to this afternoon... hopefully it will go well…”

She trails off. The indie kid sighs silently, and then turns off his camera, motioning for her to head back inside.

\---

The next challenge is the technical. Annabeth will be given a simplified version of one of the judges’ recipes, and she will have to bake the item in a certain amount of time - probably not very long.

Back in the tent, after lunch, Annabeth pulls on her apron and washed her hands. She didn't much talk to the other bakers during lunch, too focussed on this challenge. She has to do well.

The Stolls dismiss the judges, and then turn to face the contestants. “Today, Dionysus and Chiron would like you to make a Madeira cake,” Connor says.

“It must be soft, buttery, and delicious,” Travis adds.

“Bakers, you have two hours on the cake. Ready, set, bake!”

Annabeth sighs with relief. She's made Madeira cake before, enough to feel like she has a vague grasp of it; as she unveils her ingredients, she tells the camera this. 

“You'll have to help me, then,” Percy Jackson says, scrutinising the ingredients. “I've never made it before.”

“It's not that hard,” Annabeth reassures him, picking up the recipe. She skims it once - looks easy enough - and then reads it again, carefully.

Okay. She's got this.

She starts by creaming the butter and sugar together, and then adds the eggs. On the recipe, it doesn't mention that you need to add a little bit of flour at this point; looking round the room, Annabeth can see that some of the bakers don't know this. Mistake.

She wonders whether or not to tell Percy, and then her conscience wins over. “Percy,” she hisses. “You need a tablespoon of flour after you've put that egg in, or else the mixture might curdle!”

“Christ on a bike,” says Percy, scrambling for the flour. “Thanks, Annabeth.”

“No problem.” Annabeth returns to her mix, tapping the side of the sieve to speed up the process of getting the rest of the flour into the bowl. 

Adding lemon zest, she checks the clock at the side. She doesn't know exactly when they started, but she reckons they've had about half an hour of their two hours.

She has loads of time. This could go okay.

Ladling the mixture into a greased tin, she goes after it with a damp cloth, dabbing at any splashes she leaves behind - just for something to take her mind off it.

“Bake,” she hears Reyna say despairingly. “It just says 'bake’.”

Annabeth is just about to turn around and answer her when a soft Irish accent calls, from behind Reyna, “About thirty to forty minutes at roughly 180°C.” It's Will Solace, a blond man from London, with a haircut that makes Annabeth think of angels, or possibly Renaissance paintings.

Reyna thanks him, and goes back to what she's doing. Annabeth starts, realising she needs to focus too.

She pushes the tin onto the middle shelf of the oven, then slams the oven door closed, sets the timer, and flops down by the oven, breathing heavily. 

“Hey.” Thalia - a middle-aged Yorkshire woman with the face of someone a lot younger - stands over Annabeth.

“Afternoon,” Annabeth says. “How’re you finding this challenge?”

Thalia snorts. “Easy. I could make Madeira blindfolded.”

“A personal favourite?” Annabeth asks.

“Eh, you know. Used to make them for my mother, mainly.” Seeing Annabeth's expression, she added, “She's dead now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It wasn't your fault.”

Thalia peers into Annabeth's oven through the door. “Gotta say, these ovens are a lot cleaner than mine at home.”

“Same here.” Annabeth interlinks her fingers and stretches her arms out in front of her, trying to ease the cramps in her tense muscles.

Someone's oven timer beeps. “Well, they haven't done it for long enough,” says Thalia. The beeping doesn't stop, and when she looks around for the source of it, a horrified look dawns over her face. “Shit, that's mine! I must have set it for the wrong time!” She bolts to her feet, sprinting away, and Annabeth can't help but laugh. 

Fifteen minutes later, Annabeth is still sitting there silently. “Hey, Annabeth,” Percy says, and when she looks up, he hands her a cup of coffee. “You looked like you needed it,” is all he says in response to her questioning look. 

Annabeth sits there for another fifteen minutes, sipping her coffee, making it last for as long as possible, watching her cake in the oven. When the timer beeps, she swills the last cold coffee dregs in the bottom of the mug and then tips it down her throat.

Opening her oven, she examines the cake. It's a nice golden colour, and the right shape and size. She sticks a skewer in, and it comes out clean. Deciding it's ready, Annabeth shoves her hands into the oven gloves, and slides the tray out, closing the oven behind it. 

She shifts the cake onto a wire cooling rack and fans it, aware that they only have ten minutes. Looking around, she sees some of the bakers have already taken their Madeiras out, and others are still holding on. Reyna's and Thalia's look perfect, though, and Annabeth hopes hers is of a good enough standard compared to theirs.

With only two minutes left, she decorates the cake with some candied peel, moves it onto a nicer plate, and adjusts how it looks until she's happy.

“Bakers, your time is up!” Connor calls. “Step away from the Madeiras, my dears.”

Percy snickers, but Annabeth feels too dried-up and tense to laugh. “Okay, bakers, if you could bring your perfect Madeiras up to the front and place them behind your pictures,” Travis says.

Annabeth dutifully takes her cake up and sets it down behind her - decidedly unflattering - photograph. Then she sits down on the offered stool.

The judges enter. “It smells lovely in here,” says Chiron, as he and Dionysus take their places behind the table - where they can't see the photos, and don't know whose cake is whose.

Thalia is first. “A lovely bake, really lovely,” says Chiron. “Look at this golden colour - it's just how we wanted.”

“Good shape, too,” says Dionysus, prodding Thalia's cake. “Let's taste it and see if it's as good as it looks.”

He cuts a slice and tastes it. “The flavours and texture are good, and it's baked through well. Maybe a tiny bit under-baked on the very bottom, but barely noticeable.”

Chiron nods in agreement. “A nice crisp outside, too. Very well done.”

“Moving on.”

They step onwards, to the next cake, and Annabeth feels light-headed, because there's only one more until hers. It’s Hazel Levesque's - Annabeth hasn't paid much attention to her, but her cake turns out to be not half bad.

Then it's hers. “This is a great colour, nice and golden, and a good form. Looks baked well, too,” Dionysus says, cutting a slice.

“You can see right away that it's perfectly baked through - see how the knife goes in?” Chiron says. 

They both take a mouthful. “That really is good,” Dionysus says. “Just the right texture, and a great flavour balance.”

“They obviously know their stuff,” Chiron agrees, and they move on without a single bad comment. Annabeth almost falls off her stool.

After the judges finish going along the row, they begin to rank the bakers, starting with Clarisse LaRue, whose cake was apparently not very good at all. They move up the ranks, until they're at the top four, and they still haven't said Annabeth's name.

Am I so bad they couldn't even put me on the ranks? she wonders, a fluttery panicky feeling rising up in her stomach. 

Fourth is Will Solace. Annabeth's heart races even faster.

“Third, this one,” Dionysus says, and Reyna raises a hand. 

“Second…” There's an agonising pause. Annabeth feels like she's dying. “This one here.” 

It's Annabeth's.

Second. She did it. She made it nearly to the top. An overwhelming sensation of relief settles warmly in her stomach.

\---

Annabeth goes home in a state of shock. She goes to bed in a state of shock. She wakes up at two AM in a state of shock, and goes to the kitchen to practice her showstopper. They're supposed to make a Black Forest Gâteau - before the Bake Off, Annabeth didn't even know how to spell it, let alone bake it.

She's being ambitious and making the three cakes have different flavours: strawberry, raspberry, and cherry. 

She can do it in the time, she's sure of it.

\---

The next day, she's kind of regretting only sleeping for four hours, but a coffee (or two) wake her up just fine. At the tent, she's the last one there - again.

Her mind is buzzing, possibly from the coffee, and her fingers drum against the counter, just out of sight of the cameras, all through the intro.

Finally, it's time to start. Annabeth nearly splashes boiling water all over herself, and spills brown sugar on the counter. Sweeping it up, she forces herself to take a breath and calm down. 

She puts all her energy into beating the butter and sugar with so much strength, she nearly breaks the bowl. 

Melted chocolate smells amazing, and looks velvety smooth. Annabeth is almost mesmerised by its whorls and curls, and she quickly dumps it in the mix so she doesn't get distracted.

Cherry brandy is one of Annabeth's ingredients, and she seriously considers just chugging it, but maybe that might make it worse, so she sets it to the side and adds the eggs.

When all the ingredients are in the bowl, she mixes it so hard, her arm hurts, and then puts it into her tins. The cameras zoom in on her at that point, and the judges arrive. “What are you whipping up, then, Annabeth?” asks Connor.

“Mine is a Very Berry Gâteau,” Annabeth says. “The bottom cake is strawberry, then raspberry, then cherry.”

“Sounds good,” says Chiron. “How big are your cakes?”

“Like this.” Annabeth shows him the tins, and he nods. “Great. We'll leave you to it.”

“Sounds berry delicious,” Travis adds, before they wander off to the next table.

Annabeth spots other people in the tent using fancily-shaped tins - hearts and stars and diamonds - but she's stuck with regular circles so she can be certain to get an even bake all the way through. Here's to hoping it works.

She rests by the oven whilst she waits, her fingers still beating out a rhythm on her thighs.

Hazel Levesque comes to sit next to her - it seems Annabeth's bench is ‘The Social Hub’, and everyone has to come and talk to her even if she evidently doesn't want to.

She feels a bit better when she sees how much nervous energy Hazel has - her hands fiddle with the hem of her shirt, then her hair, then they flutter somewhere in the air. “Did you drink too much coffee, too?” Annabeth asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“ADHD,” Hazel says, smiling wanly. “I forgot to take my meds this morning, with so much on my mind.”

“Hey, I have ADHD, too!” Annabeth exclaims, glad to find something they have in common. “Though mine's not been too bad, lately. It was worse when I was a kid.”

“Mine made my life hell when I was younger,” Hazel agrees, her accent soft and lilting. “I nearly died, at one point, thanks to my carelessness and crazy energy.”

“It sucks,” Annabeth says. “It was the worst when I was doing my GCSEs.”

“Same.”

“I got a B in Maths and an A in product design, but I couldn't concentrate in any of the other exams. Three D’s and an E.”

“I got a bunch of D’s,” Hazel says. “An A in PE, though.”

“You're into sport?” Annabeth asks, surprised.

“I was ten years ago,” Hazel laughs. “I still love riding, though - I work as a riding instructor just south of Scotland, near my house, and a waitress part time.”

“I'm a failing architect.” Annabeth isn't sure why she's telling all this to a stranger, but she likes Hazel, and it takes her mind off the coffee still pumping through her bloodstream.

Annabeth's timer beeps, and Hazel excuses herself, and then Annabeth has to get back to baking business.

Whilst she and Hazel had been talking, Annabeth has been boiling the cherry brandy, and adding various fruits to get the flavours she needs.

The cakes cool quickly, whilst she whips up some cream. She's able to cut them horizontally, so she has five slim disc-shaped cakes. Placing the first disk on a plate, she adds cream, strawberries, and the strawberry-brandy syrup, and then puts the next disc on top. She repeats this until she's got a full cake - a little wobbly, but it's the leaning tower of gâteau, as she tells the cameras.

She sprinkles the cake with chocolate, and checks the time: half an hour more. 

As quickly as she can, without ruining the cakes, she makes two more of the same - one medium-sized and one small - with raspberries and cherries respectively.

Five minutes left. She slides the cakes onto the stand, carefully perching some whole cherries on the whipped cream of the top cake.

Three, two, one - time up.

Annabeth steps away from her black forest gâteau, praying it doesn't collapse, but it seems to hold strong. The bakers chat amongst themselves as they clear up, but Annabeth is too tense to.

“Silena, if you would like to bring up your gâteau,” Connor says. Annabeth does the annoying zoning-out thing again; she feels as if she might be about to experience an out of body experience due to nerves.

Her brain buzzes about everything and nothing until it's her turn, and then all the energy drains from her limbs, leaving her feeling like she's moving through treacle, or black forest gâteau misture

“Annabeth. Could you please bring your gâteau to the front,” Travis says. Annabeth's palms slip and slide with nerves, and she can hear her heart beating in her ears and throat and everywhere else.

She places her cake on the table, nodding to the judges. 

“This is very pretty,” Chiron says. “I like the whipped cream - it's very tidy.”

“So, you've got the three cakes with the different berry flavours, right?” Dionysus says, and Annabeth nods. “Okay, let's try to strawberry first.”

Chiron cuts a slice. “Baked all the way through,” he says, “and a very nice texture.”

“It's nice,” Dionysus says. “To be quite frank with you, I wasn't sure about strawberry in a black forest gâteau, but this actually works really well.”

Annabeth relaxes her crossed fingers. One cake down, two to go.

“Yes, it's lovely,” Chiron says. “Now let's try the next one.”

Dionysus tries it. “This one doesn't work as well,” he says, and Annabeth swear her stomach falls right out through her feet. She nods again, biting her lip nervously. “The flavours aren't quite as good.”

They praise the final cake - Dionysus deems it “a traditional black forest” and Chiron praises its “balance of flavours and toppings”. Overall, not too bad a result, Annabeth thinks, chewing over the judges’ words and washing them down with a slice of her cake.

As long as it's enough to keep her in the contest.

\---

Later that afternoon, Annabeth has spilt tea down herself three times - it doesn't taste any better chucked all over a white blouse - and read the same page of a novel approximately five hundred times - she was never good at reading anyway - and her nerves are as frayed as old rope.

When the bakers have to file into the tent and sit on their stools at the front, Annabeth is genuinely worried she's going to faint, or maybe scream, or maybe both at the same time.

The cameras set up and begin rolling. “Bakers, I’m the good cop today,” Connor says. “I get to present the title of Star Baker to one contestant. Someone who has proved that they can make coffee and walnut cake without losing their marbles - or in this case, their extra nuts.”

Next to Annabeth, Reyna inhales sharply. “Someone who can make a Madeira cake fit for a king - or two - and a gâteau that the black forest could be proud of.

“This week, Star Baker goes to…” Connor pauses for dramatic effect - “Reyna!”

“Oh my God.” Reyna covers her mouth, shocked, but grinning. “Oh, wow.” The others clap, and so does Annabeth.

Now for the part she's been worrying about.

“And sadly, the not-so-good duty falls to me,” Travis says. “It's with great sadness that this week, we must say goodbye to one baker. And that baker is…”

Annabeth wipes her sweaty palms on her apron. Each second that stretches out pounds like a second heartbeat. 

“It's Silena; I'm so sorry!” 

The others gather round Silena to hug her - a pretty girl with a pink hijab that Annabeth is ashamed to say she hasn't even talked to yet - and it's with a splash of guilt that Annabeth realised she's relieved, relieved she's still in the contest, relieved she still has a shot.

Soon, the camera people draw the bakers out one by one to conduct the personal comment sections. Annabeth is seventh.

“I’m so happy I'm still in,” she admits, and then laughs and ducks her head, to the annoyed hiss of the camera woman. “But anything could happen. I'm excited for next week, but scared, too.” She ends her interview with a little smile, and then heads back inside, to the people who are going to become her firm friends over the next few weeks.

If she can stay in that long, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments please?? any feedback is appreciated ... anything at all !


End file.
